


A Pull in the Blood

by HoneyaBeezeknees



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: BDSM, Blood Kink, M/M, Masturbation, No beta we die in the worg pens, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, baldur's gate 3 - Freeform, catching feelings, some brain slug shenanigans, vampires gonna vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:42:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29532168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyaBeezeknees/pseuds/HoneyaBeezeknees
Summary: Even after Tav lets Astarion snack on him, the elf is unconvinced that his new traveling companion is much more than occasionally useful eye candy.He finds himself reconsidering his evaluation when Tav expresses a surprising curiosity about Loviatan worship practices.Not going to call this faithful to the in-game scene but I tried?
Relationships: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Male Character(s), Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Tav (Baldur's Gate
Kudos: 11





	A Pull in the Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Set the day after Astarion sneaks up on the PC looking for a quick bite. Assume the PC was heavy on the innuendo in the subsequent conversation.  
>   
> I used the default character name (sort of - I turned it into a nickname, so there's both Tav and Tavalen).  
> I included Abdirak in the tags because he does feature pretty prominently in the story, but I don't think he ever introduces himself so I didn't actually use his name in the story.  
>   
> There's some blood but it's pretty mild.  
>   
> Also I've apparently decided that Astarion doesn't like to be punctured or cut.  
>   
> Gotta keep all that precious ill-gotten blood in **AMIRITE**

Astarion had woken early and in a splendid mood.

He'd ambled down to the river bank to wash his face and tarried there, basking in the morning light and dwelling on the events of the previous night. He stretched like a contented cat and laid back on the dewy grass of the bank. It had been too long since he felt so sated.

Astarion frowned as his thoughts turned to his comrade-cum-midnight-snack, contemplatively tonguing the point of a fang. The wizard was pleasant enough to look at, and either fatuous or reckless enough to let him feed, but that was all. Wasn't it?

Two hundred years of slavery hadn't exactly left him keen to form attachments, tempting as a willing, readily accessible source of sustenance might be.

Nevertheless, Tav's easy acceptance certainly had not been the response that Astarion was expecting.

Nor had the half-drow been particularly circumspect in his flirtation the previous night.

The vampire spawn absent-mindedly drew a finger along the side of his flaccid cock through his trousers, chewing on the idea as he might a piece of gristle. It was a tempting proposition, he had to admit. But he simply could not countenance the idea of being beholden to someone again. Not so soon after his liberation.

No. It was nothing more than an amusing diversion, and so it would stay.

* * *

Astarion hadn't put much stock in the goblin's promises, but wonder of wonders, she had practically breezed them right into the heart of the goblin stronghold.

Still, it rankled, being led about by vermin.

It had been laughably easy to give her the slip once they were into the fortress, free to explore on their own. He'd been drawn to the scent of blood like a moth to flame - past the makeshift torture chamber to a dimly-lit room where a man knelt in a pool of blood, his lacerated back to them, fervently reciting prayers.

  
The air in the small chamber was thick with the intoxicating aroma of blood. Even the stench of goblin filth seemed diminished by it.

Astarion was instantly fascinated, and to his surprise, so was his wizardly companion.

Of course he had heartily encouraged Tav's curiosity. It was one of Astarion's favourite games, escalating charged situations. Finding out how far he could push people. This time though, a little doubt clung to the edges of his mind. Had it been too much? What exactly did this priest have in mind?

The vampire spawn inhaled, savouring the atmosphere. A pleasant tingling sensation was prickling his skin. His senses felt strangely heightened.

When his focus returned to the others in the room, Astarion's eyes widened. Tavalen had begun removing his robe.

He'd been expecting a show, of course, but the smooth flesh of the wizard's back was promising so much more - an unobscured view of any wounds, of the blood... Astarion let out a slow, metered breath. He was fighting a losing battle against the anticipation of it. His own accursed body was betraying him.

Tav stepped to the alcove in nothing but his underclothes, bracing his arms against the wall, lean muscle moving beneath ash-grey skin.

The scourge came down on Tav's back with a snap, eliciting a moan from the half-drow.

Astarion was hard. Painfully hard. He had tried to control himself, but the damnable wizard had taunted the priest, was willingly escalating the situation, reveling in it, and it was all just so... inescapably erotic.

Astarion had expected the wizard to take a hit, maybe two, and then be done with it, his curiosity having been satisfied.

He cursed himself for having indulged so gluttonously in the wizard's blood the night before. This wouldn't be happening had he been less flush, surely.

His mouth had gone dry. He swallowed, letting out a slow, shaky breath to try to calm his racing pulse.

The elf jammed his hands into his pockets, pulling the fabric of his trousers taut over his erection in a vain attempt to relieve some of the pressure. He worried his lower lip with a fang, the sharp pain clearing the mental haze a little. Not enough.

He had bitten his lip too hard. He tasted blood. Tavalen's blood.

Another blow to Tavalen's back, another gasp from Tavalen's lips. And still he taunted the priest.

A short whimper rose and died in the back of Astarion's throat. To his utter mortification, the priest's gaze flicked over to meet his. An amused sneer ghosted across the man's lips as he brought the scourge down a third time.

A splatter of castoff blood hit Astarion's face and he started. Gingerly, he touched two fingers to the droplets and brought them to his lips. A shudder of pleasure wracked his body and his cock throbbed desperately.

He drifted closer to his Tav, their companions forgotten, mesmerized by the glint of fresh blood on the wizard's dusky skin.

A gentle touch at his elbow interrupted his reverie and he spun, teeth bared in a snarl.

"I will be more than happy to impart to you the teachings of the Lady of Pain," the priest purred, "but I prefer only to minister to *one* student at a time, dear one. Kindly step back and allow me to complete this lesson."

The elf sighed through his nose and ground his teeth together, scowling.

The veil had been lifted. He supposed he should be grateful for the human's intrusion. It had shocked him back into control of himself, as unwelcome as it had been.

The priest led Tavalen away from the wall and passed his hands over the wizard's body, conferring the blessing of Loviatar on him.

Astarion moved to the chair that Tav had draped his robe over. He trailed his fingertips across the nearby table, in which lay the weapons and implements the priest used in his devotions. His eyes paused on a slender dagger and he brushed his fingers over its carved handle.

As the elf scooped up the robe, he slipped the dagger into his own sleeve with practiced ease and turned, holding the robe out to its owner.

Benediction complete, Tav wordlessly accepted the proffered clothes. Their eyes met briefly before the wizard turned away to dress.

* * *

He was going out to find a meal, he had explained, he wouldn't be long.

Astarion hadn't gone too far from the camp before he'd begun to waver in his purpose. His heart wasn't it. He was still sated from the night before, and he found that he wasn't quite ready to replace Tavalen's presence in his veins. Particularly not with some lesser prey.

Foolish, he chided himself. But he still sat down in the small glade, finding himself a fortuitously shaped chaise lounges of gnarled roots covered in plush green moss. 

He wouldn't hunt tonight.

Letting his eyes drift shut, the elf pictured Tav in his mind's eye. Dark where Astarion was pale, but with eyes that matched his own. A curious duality, he mused. He recalled how the half-drow had looked removing his robe in that crumbling, goblin-infested fortress. Recalled the blood running in rivulets down his back, how he'd moaned with the pleasure and pain of the scourge.

Astarion reached down and unsheathed the Loviatan ritual dagger from its new home at his hip. His deft fingers unbuttoned first his jerkin, then the shirt beneath it. He drew the blade gently down his exposed chest and stomach, hard enough to sting, but not to draw blood. A ragged sigh escaped him. The fingers of his free hand drifted south, nudging beneath the waistband of his trousers.

He let himself imagine cleaning the blood from Tavalen's back, let himself picture his own pale fingers traveling over the wizard's ashen skin, gently tending the fresh wounds.

A smile spread across Astarion's lips. His fingers wrapped around his hardening cock and he stroked himself languidly.

And then he found himself assailed by an unbidden flash of memory, so vivid it made his head swim. Tav's blood hot in his mouth, Tav's back hot against his chest, their bodies pressed together in a vampiric embrace. But his own memory mingled with sensations not his own - the impression of his own fangs buried in his neck, of his own arms cradling him, washed over Astarion. It was bewildering. It was fascinating. It was... glorious.

He wrapped himself in both the mental and physical sensations as he thrust into his hand. He was only vaguely aware of the short, ecstatic sounds he was making. Astarion wedged the back of one knuckle of his free hand between his teeth, careful to bite down only with his incisors so as not to break the skin. He groaned into his hand as he came, doubled over, whole body trembling.

In the post-orgasmic haze he mulled over the experience.

The sensation of having been fed on... had that been how it had felt for him? He couldn't recall. It had been so, so long ago, any memories of pleasure long since plastered over by centuries of bad ones. He lay for a while, reflecting and looking up at the stars, on the soft moss that blanketed the glade. When he rose to start back to camp, he felt more at peace than he had since before even his time with the Szarrs.

He stopped for a quick wash by the cold stream, thankful he'd had the foresight to set a bucket out earlier, and trudged up the bank toward the camp.

He paused to look down at Tav's sleeping form before settling down on his own bedroll to trance.

"Sweet dreams," he murmured.


End file.
